


show you all the red lace underneath this dress

by fortunatedaughter



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 14:16:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8330950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunatedaughter/pseuds/fortunatedaughter
Summary: At first she could ignore it.A pointed gasp there, a low chuckle there. The subtle and soft shift of fabric being removed and dropping. She had other things to focus on --- does this shade work with her skin tone, does this style of cup work with breasts? She’s got a fiancee to seduce on his way back from a trip and that, that is more important than the couple going at it in the room across from hers.Then, of course, the couple has to go and fucking speak.





	

**Author's Note:**

> based on a prompt from mikeginsanity: rachel hears a randy couple getting it on in the dressing room next to hers in a lingerie shop - only she recognises mike's voice
> 
> i got this out in like two hours it was that much fun. this is less e and more heavy m because while there's no like, heavy description it's not exactly PG either, so!
> 
> title from body say by demi lovato

At first she could ignore it.

A pointed gasp there, a low chuckle there. The subtle and soft shift of fabric being removed and dropping. She had other things to focus on --- does this shade work with her skin tone, does this style of cup work with breasts? She’s got a fiancee to seduce on his way back from a trip and that, that is more important than the couple going at it in the room across from hers.

Then, of course, the couple has to go and fucking speak.

“So you like the red?” The woman drawls, and Rachel frowns, her gaze turning to the wall that separates the changing rooms. (It might have been a high end store, with no way to see the other occupants, but you could hear them, sure as shit. Then again, the changing rooms also weren’t meant for public sex, so.) That woman’s voice though, it’s familiar, like it’s skating on the edges of her awareness. It doesn’t matter that the voice is filled with want and desire, breathless in it’s quality --- she knows who it is, she’s sure of it.

“Oh yeah.” The male replies. Rachel nearly drops the nightgown in her hands.

Now that voice she fucking knows, because if anything --- she was once upon a time the cause of it’s rough timbre, the reason it took on that deep tone. 

Mike Lawson, ex-husband, baseball catcher turned assistant coach with bi-weekly sports column in two major newspapers.

Rachel can practically see the way his eyes were probably darkening in that moment, darkening because of the rookie superstar pitcher he was with in the room across from hers. And that’s when it clicks --- she knows the woman’s voice, breathless with want though it is.

_Ginny Baker._

Her hands tighten around the silk nightgown. She hears ruffling, a pointed gasp --- a low chuckle and a few muttered words she can’t make out but knows, knows they’re fucking dirty because if there’s one thing she knows about her ex-husband is that he’s pretty damn good at dirty talk. (She squirms slightly, just thinking about some of the things he’d said to her in bed.)

“What else do you like?” The breathless voice of Ginny Baker asks, which, okay. Rachel’s never expressly been into girls, they’re attractive, sure and she’s self-aware enough to say she’s experimented when she was still in college but, damn. Ginny’s voice --- practically dripping with lust and desire, it’s quite possibly enough to have Rachel reexamine her position on women.

Mike chuckles lowly. “This part,” And Rachel frowns because she can’t see --- can’t fathom which part he does like and it doesn’t even occur to her that seeing is taking this voyeurism just one step too far. “And this part.” Rachel swallows roughly --- she knows that tone, can remember many a nights as it lilted in her ear when his insomnia kicked in and Christ, she thought it was hot then, but now? “Especially this part though.” The resulting gasping whimper from Ginny’s mouth has Rachel inhaling sharply.

Idly, in the part of her brain that isn’t listening to her ex-husband get it on with what she assumes is his new girlfriend in changing room next to hers, Rachel wonders what set Ginny had chosen. There were a lot of pretty sets in the store itself, and if it has **this** effect on her ex...

But the part of her brain that was tuned into this, she felt.... something. An ugly mix of disgust, jealousy and maybe even a hint of frustration. Disgust, because, seriously? Semi-public sex had never been a thing for Mike previously so why the fuck was it now? Jealousy, because that’s Mike, her Mike, the first man she ever truly gave her heart too and now.. now she has to be subjected to this, after the hell he put her through when he’d miss dinner sometimes, in favour of spending the night out with the boys.

A part of her can see it, see them in their room, almost vividly so. How he’s probably leaving fingerprint bruises on her hips, how he’s probably worried a bite into Baker’s shoulder, marking her. How she’s probably got one of those long legs hooked around his waist, pulling him closer. How she’s probably not even wearing the lingerie set she was beforehand, how it’s now probably on the floor or hanging off her lithe athletic frame. How he’s probably got a finger in mouth for her to bite down on, lest she make too much noise and alert the rest of the store they’re going at it because God forbid, Mike Lawson and Ginny Baker keep their hands off each other in public.

How she can see the vivid looks of pleasure on their faces, how Baker’s probably worried her lip raw from trying to keep quiet, how Mike’s probably bordering on being loud himself _too_. Out of the corner of her eye she sees herself in the mirror --- half dressed, chest breathing shallowly and cheeks pink, pupils blown and God, she can’t even believe this.

(She’s turned on by the sound of her ex-husband and his new girlfriend. This has to be rock bottom.)

A knock sounds on the door to Ginny’s changing room and the sales attendant’s voice rings out, asking how she’s going. Rachel wants to mutter that Ginny Baker seems to be going just fine and probably, in another minute or two, she’d be doing really fuckin’ well, but she bites her tongue. With only a handful of weeks till the season ends and Mike Lawson makes the transition from active player to assistant coach, Rachel’s betting that the two of them are waiting till the season’s over and then some to go public.

(There’s a fleeting thought to blowing their secret wide open, if not because she’s still a little bitter about their divorce despite how happy she is with David. That blowing their story would be the biggest boost for her career, but --- given how Mike’s now billed as the hometown hero and Baker’s not far behind that... it’d probably do more harm than good.)

“F-fine,” Ginny replies, voice shaky and taking a higher edge. Rachel purses her lips. Mike’s probably got his fingers around her clit, tracing figure eights in that pace that still, to this day, seemingly can only attributed to him. (Seriously. She did the legwork. Only Mike Lawson.)

“It’s the straps, right?” The sales lady replies sympathetically. “They can be a bit tricky.”

“Right,” GInny inhales deeply and Rachel can, you know, _sympathise_. Mike’s good at sex, great at it even. She has many fond memories of weekends at home instead of away where they didn’t even bother to leave their bed. “S-traps,”

“Don’t worry. I’ll **help** you with the straps.” The dirty cadence of his voice is enough to cause Rachel to tug her shirt back on, nightgown forgotten and left behind. The door to her own change room slams open but she doesn’t have time to think about whether or not the two of them decided to stop or if being one step closer to privacy had them going at it again.

(She’s too busy fleeing the scene of the crime, expression flushed to worry about it.)


End file.
